


Bastard and the Beast

by mskullgirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:16:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4842080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mskullgirl/pseuds/mskullgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon Snow, the pretty bastard of Winterfell finds himself in a dark keep bartering for his father's freedom. But everything comes at a price. In order to free his father Jon must take his place as the prisoner of a mysterious man who hides in the shadows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Princess Joanna

     Jon knew what people called him behind his back, when they weren’t calling him a bastard that was. “Princess Joanna,” “pretty-boy-Snow,” “fair maiden,” and an assortment of other things. He tried his best to ignore it, knowing it was usually meant as a compliment. Still, no matter how many times someone called him “a pretty little bastard” it never stopped hurting.

     Lady Stark disliked the comments as well, although for her own reasons. When Jon was 13, one of the lesser northern lords came to dine with the Starks. As usual, the true-born children were scrubbed within an inch of their life, dressed in their finest clothes, and reminded to be on their best behavior. Jon, as usual, was banished to one of the lower tables and told to keep quiet and not cause trouble. The evening went smoothly up until the moment when the visiting lord complimented Lady Stark on her daughter’s beauty. However, he asked why she did not sit at the main table and wore men’s clothes. For a moment the room was dead silent as everyone turned to look in Jon’s direction. Flushing red with embarrassment, he hastily stood and walked out of the hall. The laughter followed him as he climbed the stairs and collapsed on his bed in tears. He knew the lord had meant no harm, yet he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the praise. Pretty or plain, it made no difference. At the end of the day Jon was still a bastard.

* * *

 

     It was a bright, sunny day when Ned Stark set off for Karhold to discuss business with Lord Rickard Karstark. It was a journey Lord Stark took often and each time he brought back some small trinkets for his children. As he kissed them goodbye, he asked each child what they would like. Robb and Arya asked for new hunting knives, Bran wanted a book, Sansa asked for a fine gown, of course, and Rickon wanted a packet of salt-water candies.

     “And you Jon?” Ned asked, gazing at his son expectantly. Jon flushed and looked at his feet. He didn’t dare ask for something as fine as the others. And he truthfully wasn’t one for baubles. But he knew his father would insist he ask for something.

     “If it please you my lord,” he said carefully. “We’ve had fine weather of late. I’m sure there must be some wild roses blooming. If you would be so kind as to bring one back for me, should you see some on your way.” He knew it was a mistake as soon as he said it. The younger children burst into giggles and even Robb couldn’t hold back a smile.

     “Why do you want a dumb rose?” Arya asked, her nose wrinkled in distaste.

     “Are you going to plait it in your hair?” Bran laughed.

     “A rose it is then.” Ned interrupted, shooting his younger children a look. “The finest one I see. You have my word.”

* * *

 

     Mere hours after Lord Stark’s departure it began to snow. That alone was not so unusual, but as the days wore on, the storm only worsened. Jon could tell that Lady Stark worried for her husband and after a week with no word from Lord Stark, Jon began to worry as well as did Robb.

     “I must go after him.” Robb declared that night over dinner. “What if he lost his way in the storm and wander far off course?”

     “Robb, your father knows this area far better than most lords in the seven kingdoms and he certainly knows it better than you.” Lady Stark said although her voice lacked conviction. They argued for a bit but eventually Robb gave in and they went back to waiting. When another week passed Robb insisted on leaving to search for his father.

     “Please mother.” He pleaded. “He should be at Karhold by now and he always sends us a raven to let us know he arrived safely.” Catelyn Stark knew her son spoke the truth but her hesitation was clear.

     “But you’re just a boy.” She said despairingly. “And this blizzard shows no sign no letting up. You’ll catch your death of cold before you leave the yard.”

     “My lady?” Jon said, speaking for the first time that evening. It was so unexpected that both Lady Stark and Robb fell silent and turned to look at him. “I apologize my lady.” He continued. “I mean no disrespect but what you say is true. It’s dangerous out there and Robb you never were a strong rider.” Robb scowled but he didn’t try to defend himself.

     “I will go and seek out Lord Stark.” Jon said. “If my lady would allow it.” Catelyn looked at him with suspicion but she seemed to be considering.

     “Please Lady Stark.” Jon said. “I swear on the old gods and the new I will find your husband and bring him back.” There was a long pause as Catelyn looked at him and Jon saw a cold indifference in her eyes. She did not insist the task was too dangerous. As long as her own son was safe she could have cared less about Jon.

     “Well,” she said at last. “See that you do then.”

* * *

 

     Jon was no stranger to cold, not in the least. Yet this was like no cold he’d ever felt before. He felt it in his bones, in the chambers of his heart, in every last inch of him. He’d been riding for hours and the sun was rapidly starting to set. The only thing worse than trying to ride through this damned blizzard was trying to ride through it in the dark.

     Unfortunately, from what he could see through the snow, Jon was in the middle of nowhere. All around him were snow covered fields and massive black trees. In the fading light they looked more like the monsters from Old Nan’s stories.

     “Stop it.” Jon thought angrily. “You’re nearly a man grown, not a little babe who hides from shadows.” At that moment the a tree branch snapped under the weight of the snow with a loud crack. Biting back a scream, Jon urged his horse to run and he closed his eyes against the icy wind.

* * *

 

     Jon awoke in a dark hallway. The floor was hard and cold but he was out of the storm at least. Confused, he sat up and glanced around him. Dark, stone walls rose up around him, covered with faded tapestries. He had no memory of coming to this place. The last thing he remembered was the snow battering him and the horrible, horrible, cold.

    “Hello?” He called, hesitantly. The stones maintained their silence. Jon swallowed nervously, pushing himself to his feet. “Is there anyone here?” Nothing.

    “My name is Jon Snow.” He continued, trying to sound confident. “My father is Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. He was traveling this way recently but-.”

     “But he got lost in the snow.” A scratchy voice interrupted from somewhere in the dark hallway. “Is that right?” Instinctively Jon’s hand went to the handle of his sword.

     “Who are you?” He snapped. “Where is my father?”

     “Your father,” the voice said disdainfully, seemingly closer this time. “Has done me a great insult.”

     “I don’t believe you.” Jon said, grip tightening on his weapon. “My lord father is an honorable man. He would never-.”

     “What do you know of honor Jon Snow?” The voice nearly growled. “Lord Stark came into my garden and stole one of mine own roses.”

     “But it was only a flower.” Jon said in disbelief.

     “And snow is only water and direwolves are only large dogs.” The voice snapped. “He stole it all the same. He stole what was MINE.” The voice sounded angrier now but it also trembled slightly.

     “Please.” Jon said, trying for gentleness. “If he has done you wrong surely he would want to repay you.”

     “He did indeed.” The voice replied. “And he has. With his life.”

     “What?!” Jon screamed. “How dare you harm my father! I’ll kill you! I’ll-”

     “Calm yourself boy.” The voice snapped. “You father lives. He’s merely locked in the dungeon, which is a great deal kinder than what could have happened.”

     “Ser,” Jon nearly whispered. “Please. My lord father has a wife and young children at home. It is cruel to deprive them of a husband and father. I beg of you to let him go.” There was a long, tense, silence.

     “And what do you propose Jon Snow?” The voice asked at last. “What can you hope to offer in exchange for your father’s freedom?” Jon took a deep breath and squared his shoulders against the darkness.

     “Me.” He said as firmly as he could. “You can have me. I will stay here in his place.”

     “And what of your siblings?” The voice questioned. “Your parents? Will they not grieve your loss.”

     “I never knew my mother.” Jon said bitterly. “And my father’s lady wife resents me. His trueborn children will never treat me as they treat each other. They will be alright.” The voice seemed to consider it.

     “And you swear to stay?” It demanded. “Not to run the second you are able?”

     “As surely as my name is Snow.” Jon said earnestly.

     “I knew a Snow once.” The voice whispered, a statement Jon felt he wasn’t meant to hear. There was yet another silence. “So be it then. I will send him straight away on my fastest horse.” Jon nearly sobbed in relief. His eyes scanned the darkness looking for the mysterious master of the building. He saw nothing but he could hear footsteps leading away from him and deep into the shadows.

     “Wait!” He called out. “My lord I still do not know who I am indebted to.”

     “I am no one.” The voice hissed. “And I am no lord. Not anymore.”


	2. The Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets the other inhabitants of the fort.

     To Jon’s relief, he was not thrown in a dungeon. After the mystery man had vanished Jon stood in the hallway for a bit trying to decide what to do. He had been left no instructions. Something cold and wet nudged at his hand where is hung by his side, causing him to yelp in surprise. He looked down into the big brown eyes of a… dog? Jon blinked at the animal, half expecting it to disappear. It was a fairly small thing, with a dark-brown coat and delicate little paws.

    The dog patiently nudged him again and, carefully taking the hem of his jacket between its teeth, tugged him toward a dark stairway. Still shocked Jon followed as the hound led him up several floors until they stopped in front of a wooden door. Jon looked down at the dog for instruction. The dog stared back at him calmly.

    Shaking his head Jon pushed open the door and walked into a spacious room. Against the far wall stood a tall, four-poster bed covered in thick furs. A fire blazed brightly in the nearby hearth, casting a warm light over the quarters. There was a comfortable-looking chair by the hearth, along with a table piled high with books. It was a far more luxurious room than Jon was used to, finer even than his fathers.

    Another nudging at his hand brought him back to reality. He looked at the dog who, having caught his eye, trotted over to a nearby table and placed a paw on top. As Jon approached he saw a piece of parchment tucked beneath the animal’s paw with a message scrawled upon it.

    _Supper will be in an hour._ The note read. It was written in a painfully neat hand, although the letters still seemed a bit shaky. _You must be hungry. Jeyne will show you the way. I hope the quarters are to your liking._ There was no signature, not that Jon had been expecting one.

    “You’re Jeyne I presume?” He asked, looking down at the dog. Having seemingly decided her work was done, the hound walked over to the fire and curled up before it on a thick rug with a yawn.

* * *

 

    Dinner was a strange affair. Sure enough when an hour had passed Jeyne rose from her spot by the fire and walked over to the door. Not knowing what else to do Jon followed. The stairway eventually emptied into a large hall illuminated by the light of dozens of candles. A massive table sat in the middle of the room piled high with wild game, stewed vegetables, jugs of mead, and many other dishes that made Jon’s mouth water. Oddly enough although the hall seemed empty there were eleven places set.

    Jeyne nudged him towards the end of the table then happily loped over the the place set to his right. Without delay she leaned over and promptly started to eat the food on the plate before her. To Jon’s surprise eight other dog slowly trickled into the hall taking their places at the table. They glanced at Jon curiously but seemed more interested in their meal.

    “Where is your master?” Jon asked Jeyne. He could have sworn she rolled her eyes at him as if to say _I’m a dog remember?_

    “Here.” The same scratchy voice from before called from the far end of the table. “And I am nobody's master.”

    Jon’s head snapped up, eager to see his mysterious captor. As it turned out he didn’t see much. The figure facing him was heavily bundled in furs and capes. He wore a hood over his head and a scarf around his face, leaving only his eyes visible. Jon couldn’t tell what color they were from so far away.

    “You can’t eat with that over your mouth.” Jon said dumbly, grasping for something to say. The man visibly stiffened.

    “I’ve eaten already.” The fabric muffled his voice but Jon could still hear his discomfort. For a while they ate in silence, the two of them and the dogs. Well Jon ate, the other man merely folded his hands on the tale before him.

    “You have a lot of dogs.” Jon said at last. Silence.

    “Do they have names?” The strange man nodded slowly.

    “Alison, Maude, Kyra, Willow, Red Jeyne, Helicent, Sara, and Jez.” He said, gesturing at each dog individually. “And you’ve already met Jeyne.”

    “Have you no servants?” Jon asked, looking at the abundant food curiously.

    “I live alone. I have no need of them.”

    “You live in a large house with nine dogs. Who cooks? Who cleans?”

    “The girls mainly. I do whatever they cannot.” Jon choked on his food.

    “I’m sorry, did you say your dogs cook and clean?”

    “They’re very clean.”

    “But… but they’re DOGS.” The other man just shrugged, looking distinctly uncomfortable now.

    “It’s getting late.” He said, pushing his chair back from the table. “Feel free to look around, the rooms are yours to explore. But do NOT go down into the dungeons.”

    “Why not?”

    “Because they’re dungeons.” The man said dryly. “Not exactly pleasant places. Just don’t.” He stood and started out the door, his dark cloak billowing out behind him.


	3. The Reveal

The following days passed, if not pleasantly, at least tolerably. Jon had plenty of books, paper to draw on, wood and a carving knife amongst other things. He only ever saw his captor at meals but the dogs were surprisingly good company. He had been amazed to find that not only could they cook and clean but could apparently play chess. And beat him. Continuously.

He’d taken to talking to them half expecting them to answer. They never did of course, but they appeared to be listening intently. To Jon’s dismay he found himself enjoying this new life. There was no one to call him a bastard here, no screaming children always underfoot, no cold glares from Lady Stark, no sitting at the lower tables and wishing he could just disappear. His limited interactions with the Lord of the fort were awkward but always civil. Not once had the matter of his birth come up. Nor had his feminine features. It was an intensely welcome relief.

After about a fortnight Jon had shared more about his life with this stranger than he had with anyone, even Robb. Yet he knew next to nothing about his captor/host. Not that he didn’t ask.

“Why do you always wear that?” He asked one night as they ate, gesturing at the scarf around the man’s face.

“I get cold easily.” The man responded looking slightly to the left.

“Were you born in the North?” He asked the next day.  The man shrugged.

“It makes no difference.”

“Why do you live here all alone?” Jon pushed at breakfast.

“I like my privacy.”

Eventually Jon had had enough. It was time to fight dirty.

“Have you noticed how Jeyne’s been limping?” He asked one evening after they had finished their meal. Jeyne lay with her head in his lap, snoring contentedly. The man looked at him doubtfully.

“You seems fine to me.”

“I think there might be a piece of wood stuck in her paw.” Jon pressed, picking up the dog’s right front paw. “She’s been favouring it.” Slowly, cautiously the man pushed back from the table and walked over to where Jon and Jeyne sat. When he knelt beside the dog and carefully lifted her paw Jon reached out and quick as a whip pulled the scarf from the man’s face. It was only a few seconds but by the time the man had yanked the material away and covered his face again Jon had seen.

The man’s skin was wan and seemed paper thin stretched over his cheekbones. His eyes were large and grey as storm clouds although dark circles lay beneath them. His nose seemed to have been broken once before and his lips were chapped and scarred as though he’d been prone to biting them. Although he couldn’t have been much older than Robb his hair was grey and straw like, hanging over his face in matted strands. Worst of all was the glimpse Jon had seen of his teeth, those he had left anyways. They were broken and chipped or missing completely, so much so that his mouth looked misshapen without enough to fill it out.

There was a long, tense silence. The man stood clutching his scarf over his face and trembling slightly, as though he were crying. Jon dumbly sat where he was until Jeyne none-too-softly nipped at his arm before hurrying to her master’s side. He presence seemed to calm the man who eventually lowered on hand to pet her.

“I’m sorry.” Jon said softly, torn between pity and disgust.

“Leave me,” the man rasped still trembling. “Please.” Jon man hurried to obey, practically sprinting from the hall to the relative safety of his room. Sleep did not come easily that night.

 


	4. They Call Me Reek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s horribly ugly, I know.” The man said suddenly, not meeting Jon’s eyes. “I apologize if I frightened you.”

For the next three days Jon ate his meals alone. Jeyne was his only company and even she seemed upset with him. 

“How was I supposed to know he looked that way?” He asked her, stabbing the food on his plate in frustration. “Anyone would have reacted the same way.” If it was possible for dogs to scowl Jeyne was.

“I said I was sorry.” Jon mumbled, feeling chided. “I can’t do much else if he spends all day moping in his room.” 

On the fourth day Jon was surprised to see his mystery companion sitting at the table when he came down to break his fast. The scarf was not longer wrapped around his face but he sat hunched over so that his features were somewhat hidden behind his hair. Jon shifted from foot to foot, not knowing what to say or if he was permitted to join the man at the table.

“It’s horribly ugly, I know.” The man said suddenly, not meeting Jon’s eyes. “I apologize if I frightened you.” 

“Frightened? My lord, I should be apologizing to you! I should not have exposed you that way. It was... cruel.” The man snorted. 

“Trust me Jon Snow, I have known cruelty. You were thoughtless perhaps but not cruel.”

“You weren’t always…” Jon gestured vaguely at the man. “Someone did this to you.”

“Yes.” The man said softly, still staring at the floor. “Although it was nothing I didn’t deserve.”

“How can you say that?” Jon exclaimed, sinking to his knees beside the seated man. “What could you have possibly done to warrant this? No man alive deserves such treatment.” 

“I’m not.” The figure said. “Not a man. Not anymore. Just a creature, HIS creature. He made me this way, shaped me into exactly what he wanted. Made me his Reek.”

“Who?” Jon asked, staring up into the haunted, ruined face. “Who did this? Where is he now?”

“Rotting in the ground I should hope.” The man, Reek, said with bitterness. “I buried him myself after his beastly head was parted from the rest of him. It took all my strength but I did it.” He looked up suddenly, seeing Jon sitting so near him.

“I should go.” He mumbled, hurrying to stand.

“Wait.” Jon said reaching out to lay a hand on the man’s boney shoulder. “Please. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Don’t go hide in your room.” Reek scowled at him.

“I disgust you. Don’t pretend otherwise. Your pity is admirable but I do not want it.”

“Let me see you.” Jon said. “In the light. I promise I won’t say anything. Please.” Slowly, so slowly the man turned toward Jon, pushing his long hair from his face and for once making eye contact. 

_ His eyes are blue. _ Jon thought. He had never seen such eyes, wide and stormy like the sea and framed with long lashes. Beautiful eyes. 

Jon forced himself to look away from the man’s gaze, eyes scanning the ruined features more carefully than before. When he looked closer he could see high cheekbones in the midst of all the scars and hollows. His nose was a bit crooked but it had clearly once been straight and well shaped. His jaw was well defined and though scarred, his lips looked unbearably soft. Before he know what he was doing Jon reached out to trace their delicate shape. The man flinched at the movement but allowed Jon to touch his surprisingly warm flesh. With a horrible jolt Jon realized that once upon a time this man had been very handsome.

“Can we start again?” Jon asked softly. Reek looked at him with curiosity and no small amount of suspicion. Jon figured he was owed that much.

“I’m Jon Snow.” He said, extending his hand. Slowly, hesitantly he felt a gloved hand clasp his. 

“They call me Reek.” The other man said at last. They shook hands. 

  
  
  



	5. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reek smiled for the first time since Jon had known him. It was a small smile, just a quick flash of broken teeth but Jon couldn’t remember ever seeing a more wonderful sight.

    After their confrontation things seemed to fall into place. Jon persuaded his host to sit beside him when they eat instead of at the far end of the table. Reek stopped covering his face during meals, although he tended to hide behind his hair and he still refused to eat in front of Jon. 

    “My lord please.” Jon said after a week of this. “This is ridiculous. Please do not let me keep you from eating in your own house.”

    “I’m fine.” Reek said quickly, gloved fingers tapping on the table. “It’s not a pretty sight.”

    “My half-brother Rickon can only be persuaded to eat if he smears most of his meal on his face beforehand. THAT is not a pretty sight.” Reek didn’t smile at the attempt at humor but his eyes showed his appreciation. 

    “It… it’s difficult.” He said at last, looking down at his hands. “Eating like this. My teeth…” He leaves the sentence unfinished, fidgeting nervously. Jon scowled, wishing for what must have been the hundredth time that he had been the one to send Reek’s tormenter to his grave. When Reek sits down to dinner the following day he finds a plate of food waiting for him, everything cut into small enough pieces that he can eat without chewing. He doesn’t smile but he does sit and eat. Jon smiles wide enough for the both of them. 

    A month after that day Jon was able to persuade Reek to join him and the girls on their daily walk around the courtyard. It was an unusually pleasant day; the sun reflected off the snow bathing the whole area with light. A few birds were even perched on the branch of a tree chirping happily. Jon grinned at the sight. Lately the weather had been bad enough to drive such birds away and he had missed hearing their song. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a heel of bread, broke off a few pieces and held them out to the animals. They were hesitant at first but soon enough they flew down and ate from his hand. Jon glanced up to see Reek watching him with a fond expression, although he kept his distance from the scene. 

    “Come try it!” The older man shook his head.

    “I’ll scare them off if I come over there.”

    “You will not!”

    “I wouldn’t blame them.”

    “For gods sakes, they don’t care what you look like they only care if you have food. Here,” he hurried over and tipped some crumbs into Reek’s hands. “Just stay still and let them come to you.” In truth the birds were more hesitant towards Reek then they had been towards Jon but in a few minutes they were eating out of both men’s hands. When the first bird came and perched on his upturned palm Reek smiled for the first time since Jon had known him. It was a small smile, just a quick flash of broken teeth but Jon couldn’t remember ever seeing a more wonderful sight. Maybe it was the desire to see that smile again that made him stealthily gather a lump of snow in his hand and aim it at the back of Reek’s head. Reek yelped in surprise the second the icey ball made impact and he turned to see Jon giggling behind his hands. With a playful glare he proceeded to scoop up his own handful of snow and throw it at the younger man. Soon it was an all-out war between the two men ending only when they were both sopping wet and shivering from the cold. They laughed as they hurried inside happy to see a large fire burning in the kitchen. Eager to be out of his wet garments Jon hastily set about stripping. He was left in only his trousers when he thought of Reek and looked up. The other man had apparently been too distracted to be self-conscious as he had also rid himself of his outer garment and shirt. Like his face his torso was covered with scars. One nipple was missing and in its place was an “X” of scar tissue. What looked like burns littered his back and Jon could count every one of his ribs even in the dim light. When at last Reek met Jon’s gaze a brief flash of panic crossed his face and his fingers twitched toward his discarded clothes. 

    “You’re a dirty fighter.” Jon said quickly, his voice playful. “A snowball down the back of my pants? Really?” He prayed Reek would see the peace offering for what it was and not hide himself away as he had done so many times before. Slowly, carefully, the older man’s arms dropped to his sides, fully exposing himself to Jon’s gaze.

    “You were the one who attacked me without being provoked.” He joked, rubbing his hands before the fire. “I was happily feeding the birds when you decided to pelt me with snow.” Jon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, grinning widely at his companion. 

    “It’s not my fault your head presented such an appealing target.” They joked and talked easily after that although Jon noticed Reek left his trousers on even when Jon removed his. He decided for the time being not to bring it up. 

  
  
  



	6. Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon was careful to never ask about “before” although he had plenty of questions he desperately wanted answered. Had his captor had always been named Reek? Where had he been born? Who had done this to him and why?

    Jon was careful to never ask about “before” although he had plenty of questions he desperately wanted answered. Had his captor had always been named Reek? Where had he been born? Who had done this to him and why? He’s managed to piece some things together over time as Reek grew more comfortable in his presence but the curiosity plagued him. 

    One night, after they had both had far too much wine, one of Jon’s questions slipped past his alcohol-loosened lips.

    “Why do you never shoot with a bow and arrow?” The older man would sometimes make arrows in his free time, beautiful objects forged with the utmost care. Yet Jon had never seen Reek handle a bow. He half expected Reek to retreat into himself as he usually did. Instead he slowly pulled off his gloves before holding up his shaking hands for Jon to see. The younger man sucked in a breath at the sight desperately trying to keep himself from vomiting. Two fingers on Reek’s left hand were missing as was the pinky on his right. All that remained were stumps and ragged scar tissue.

    “He liked to play games.” Reek said at last, voice trembling. “The first time, he told me that if I could guess who he was and where he was keeping me he would let me go and if I couldn’t…” He took a long swallow of wine, steadying himself before he continued. “He’d had me for three days then. Three days tied to a wooden cross, no food, no water, almost no sleep. I tried, I did, but in the end I guessed wrong. He said I had to pick a body part to lose. Made me choose one. I couldn’t do it. So he decided on my little finger. I begged him not to, to just let me go.” Reek’s voice broke at that and he looked at the ground, tears streaming down his face.

    “He didn’t just cut it off. That would have been too easy. No, he flayed all the skin off piece by piece and left it like that until it began to dry and crack. There… there’s no pain like it in the world. Like your skin is on fire and there’s nothing you can do to soothe it. After a day of that I couldn’t bear it anymore and I begged him to cut it off. And when he finally did I THANKED him.” The last bit was spat out bitterly and Jon wished for the thousandth time that this man had met a much worse fate than a quick beheading. 

    “He left after that, left me hanging there on the cross and I thought ‘this is what hell must be’.” Reek continued, toying with his now empty wine goblet. “I didn’t know that it would get so much worse.” Jon immediately threw his arms around the other man pulling him to his chest in a tight embrace. It was meant to comfort the other man but also because Jon didn’t think he could bear to hear anymore, not that night. Perhaps it was the late hour or the wine but Reek clung to Jon as though he was a man lost at sea holding onto a lifeline. 

    “I’m sorry.” Jon said horsely, his face buried in Reek’s white hair. “I’m so, so sorry.”

 


	7. Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was three days after that night and six months after his arrival that Jon gathered his courage and kissed Reek for the first time.

It was three days after that night and six months after his arrival that Jon gathered his courage and kissed Reek for the first time. It had been a beautiful night and Jon had persuaded the older man to come outside and look at the stars. The sky was so clear and the stars so bright that they didn’t even mind the cold. When at last Jon turned away from the sight his eyes landed on his companion who was still gazing upwards. The moonlight softened Reek’s features and made his pale skin seem to glow. His eyes were wide with wonder and sparkled in the dim light. When he turned to Jon and graced him with a small, hesitant smile the younger threw all caution to the wind, took a deep breath and pressed their mouths together. 

It only lasted a few moments but Jon knew the feel of those dry, scarred lips against his own would be burned in his mind forever. When he pulls away Reek is staring at him wide eyed with a panicked look starting to cross his face. 

“Don’t.” Jon says, gently taking the other man’s face between his hands. “I know what you’re thinking, I can tell you’d like nothing better than to run off and hide again. But I don’t care. I don’t care about what happened that made you like this. I’m not going to be disgusted or laugh and if you tell me to stop I promise you I will and we can forget this ever happened. But,” he swallowed nervously. “I want you. I want you so much.” Reek looks at the ground but doesn’t try to pull away.

“Jon…” he says, voice hoarse. “Jon you deserve so much more than,” he gestured at himself with distaste, “this. You don’t understand. I-I can’t give you what you want”

“I want you.” Jon repeats fiercely. “I like YOU.” Reek shakes his head yet at the same time leans into Jon’s touch like a cat. 

“Please,” the younger man says. “Please just give me a chance.” Slowly very slowly Reek looks up and meets his eyes and although there is fear in his eyes there is also the distinct glimmer of hope. 

“Alright.” He says at last, voice breaking as he tries to fight back tears.

“Truely?” Jon asks, a smile already tugging at his lips. Reek smiles back shyly and nods in agreement.

“Yes.” At that moment Jon would like nothing more than to kiss him again and melt into his touch until they’re both panting and out of breath but he knows that it had taken an enormous amount of courage for Reek to allow him this much and he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

“Come on,” he says, jerking his head in the direction of the fort. “Your nose is turning red. Let’s go inside and warm up.” Again Reek nods and side by side they make their way home. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. Reek Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: past genital mutilation, past non-con, past necrophilia, basically Ramsay being the awful little shit he always is.

A few days later the sun comes out, offering a brief respite from the normally frigid weather. The dogs crowd around the kitchen door, whining pitifully until at last Reek goes out to play fetch with them. It is still quite early in the morning and Jon chooses to remain inside breaking his fast on buttered bread and tea. Just as he is finishing off his meal the front door opens and in walks Reek, covered from head to toe in mud with twigs sticking out of his hair.

“What in the seven hells-?” Jon asks rushing to him. Thankfully the other man seems to have come to no physical harm, although he is obviously annoyed.

“I bent down to pick up a stick and the girls tackled me. Fell right into a mud puddle.” Reek explains as he uselessly tries to wipe the dirt from his face.

“Can I use your handkerchief?” He asks after realizing the futility of his endeavor. Jon cannot contain his amused laughter.

“That won’t help much I’m afraid.” He says. “You need a bath.” For a brief moment something flickers across Reek’s face and his whole body stiffens in discomfort but a second later it’s gone.

“I suppose I do.” He says at last, still looking a bit unsure.

“I’ll heat up the water, you go get everything you need alright?” Jon says, already taking up a large bucket and heading outside. He doesn’t see Reek’s panicked expression or hear his hesitant response of “Alright”.

 

Once the water is heated Jon lugs the heavy buckets upstairs to the bathing chamber. Reek has discarded his mud-soaked cloak and gloves but he still stands awkwardly in his tunic, trousers and boots.

“Do you plan on bathing like that?” Jon jokes as he pours the first bucket of steaming water into the metal tub in the middle of the room. Reek does not respond, just looks at his feet and fidgets.

“Reek?” Jon asks, staring at his friend with concern.

“Do you know why he called me that?” The other man says abruptly, not looking up. Jon hesitates, sensing they are touching upon something important.

“Why?” He asks, careful to keep his voice neutral.

“He had a friend once.” Reek says in a monotone. “A servant really, named Heke, although no one ever called him that. He always smelled foul no matter how much he bathed. He wore flowers in his hair and doused himself in rose water but nothing helped. Once he even stole a bottle of perfume and drank it. It almost killed him, but the stench never left. So after a while everyone called him Reek.” He paused, shifting from foot to foot.

“They were inseparable, he and the man who hurt me, they had been ever since Ra- since He was a boy. They used to go on hunts together.” Reek screwed up his face in revulsion. “They would catch peasant girls, then set them free and tell them to run for their lives. Then chase after them with hounds until they caught them. When they did He would rape and kill them, then Reek would have his way with the bodies while they were still warm.”

Jon had to work very hard not to vomit, forcing himself to listen to what Reek was saying.

“The first Reek died before I was brought here.” Reek continued. “I suppose He wanted a substitute for him, I’m not sure why. I had been here a few weeks, most of that time strapped to that damn wooden cross and I hadn’t been able to bath. That was when he started calling me Reek. I told him that wasn’t my name and he…” He swallowed anxiously. “By the time he was through with me I would have let him call me whatever he wanted. After that he hardly ever let me bathe and when he did I had to EARN it.”

“Reek…” Jon said softly, the name feeling wrong in his mouth. He reached out a hand to try and comfort his friend.

“Are you disgusted yet?” Reek said bitterly, wrapping his thin arms around his torso. “Knowing what I was, what he MADE me?”

“No!” The younger man exclaimed.”Aye, I’m disgusted but it’s with the beast who tortured you. That is his wrong, not your.” Reek glares at him, obviously doubting his words.

“Are you certain?” He says and before Jon can respond the older man unbuttons his muddy doublet and tosses it aside. To Jon’s amazement he then kicks off his boots and pulls his tunic up over his head.

“I can leave,” he ventures, edging toward the door. “If you want privacy.”

“No.” Reek says, toeing off his socks and starting on the laces of his trousers. “You should see. Maybe you’ll understand then.” With a look of determination he sheds his last covering and stands bare before Jon.

The first thing Jon is drawn to are the scars. They don’t just cover his chest, they criss-cross over his entire body like a grotesque map of suffering. Goosebumps cover his pale skin where it is not covered in mud. Jon cannot help but let his eyes travel down over the prominent collarbone and ribs, to the slightly bloated stomach, over sharp hip bones and wiry muscles wasted from lack of food. When his eyes finally reach the space between Reek’s thin thighs he cannot help the gasp that escapes his lips. A thin trail of light hair leads from the other man’s navel to his groin and lightly cover the man’s balls where they hang between his legs. However, in the space where a cock should sit there is only a stump, no more than an inch in length.   

“He said I wasn’t a man any longer.” Reek explained, voice trembling. “Only a creature, only his Reek. I had no need for a cock so he decided he would take it from me. I tried to stop him, tried to crawl away but I was so weak…” For a moment he looks as though he is going to cry. Jon wants to speak but his words dry up in his mouth. He cannot tear his eyes away.

“Once upon a time I could have been the man you wanted, if not a man worthy of you. I thought if I kept you here with me I could remember how to be that man again.” Reek scoffs bitterly at that. “But I was deluding myself. I may not be a man any longer but you are and you deserve more than this.” With a final tearful exhalation Reek turns away from Jon. “If you wish to leave I will not stop you.”

“What?” Jon whispers, caught off guard and still trying to process everything he had seen and heard.

“I release you. You are no longer my prisoner.” Reek says, still turned away from him. “Go home to you father and siblings. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you.” For a moment Jon can picture it, riding through the gates of Winterfell, embracing little Arya, sleeping in his own bed again. Once he would have longed for such things but the thought of leaving this place, of never seeing one of Reek’s hesitant smiles again makes something in his chest ache terribly. As he looks at Reek’s hunched shoulders and the scars covering his back he knows that while the world had not been kind to Jon it had been immeasurably cruel to Reek. He would sooner die than add to that suffering.

“No.” He says, in a surprisingly firm voice. Reek stiffens, his shoulders tense.

“What?”

“No, I’m not leaving.” The older man whirls around eyes full of suspicion.

“If this is a jape it is a poor one.” He says. “And crueler than I thought you capable of.”

“You said you release me but I never said I wished to leave.”

“I order you to go then!”

“If I am no longer your prisoner you cannot order me to do anything.” Jon retorted, stepping hesitantly closer. “And unless you drag me from this place I am staying.”

“Why?” Reek asked, big blue eyes glistening with tears. “Why would you want to?” Jon gently cups his face in his hands.

“Because you survived. Because your strength, your compassion, your courage, those things are what make you a man. Everything else doesn’t matter.” Reek takes a long hard look at him, searching for a lie and finding none. Jon smiles softly at him before pressing a feather light kiss to his lips.

“The water’s getting cold.” Jon says, gesturing at the tub. “I’ll leave you to your bath.”

 _And I’ll still be here when you’re done._ He thinks. Reek nodded and moved to wash. Jon is nearly out the door when he hears it, so quiet he nearly misses it.

“Theon.” The younger man glanced over his shoulder at Reek who stood facing the door with a tiny hopeful smile on his face. “My name was… IS Theon.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
           

 


	9. Turning Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bath had been a turning point for them, both Jon and Reek, now Theon.

The bath had been a turning point for them, both Jon and Reek, now Theon. Jon was more than glad to put that vile name, a reminder of past suffering, to rest. With a new name came a new attitude. With every passing day Theon seemed to walk taller, move more surely. He joked more, crass jokes that made Jon roll his eyes although he was secretly grateful to see mischief in his friend’s face. There were other changes too, more obvious ones.

“Would you cut it for me?” Theon asked one day as they lay before the fire. His head was in Jon’s lap, Jon’s fingers combing through his pale hair.

“You hair?” Jon asked hesitantly. “Are you sure?” In the past Theon had been prone to hiding behind his long hair, creating a physical barrier between himself and the rest of the world. Removing that barrier meant leaving himself vulnerable to a world that had shown him nothing but cruelty. 

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Theon huffed, as though sensing Jon’s thoughts. “It’s always getting in my face is all.” It was a lie and they both knew it but Jon didn’t press, just went to fetch a comb and his hunting knife. When he returns Theon is sitting up, a lock of brittle hair twirled around his finger.

“I wouldn’t bother trying to comb it.” He said, gesturing at the items in Jon’s hand. “Better just to cut it all off.”

“Not all of it.” Jon reasons with him, although he does set the comb aside. “I’ll just trim away the knotted parts and make it a bit shorter.” Theon glanced at him worriedly.

“You do know what you’re doing don’t you?” He asked hesitantly.

“I’ve seen Lady Stark do this hundreds of times.” Jon replied, unsheathing his knife slowly so as not cause Theon fear. “How difficult can it be?”

“Well that certainly puts my mind at ease.” Theon grumbles as Jon begins to slice away tufts of hair. They fall to the floor, stark white against the grey stones. 

“It used to be dark you know.” Theon mused as Jon worked. “Darker than yours even.”

“Sure, back before you were an old man.” Jon teased.

“I am not yet four and twenty and you know it.” 

“I always assumed you were just part Targaryen.” They bicker amiably as strands of hair continue to fall around them. Eventually Jon steps away, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Didn’t butcher it too much did you Snow?” Theon asked, running his fingers through his shorter locks. 

“See for yourself.” A polished silver plate is produced and Theon stares into it for so long that Jon begins to grow nervous.

“Is it that terrible?” He asked. “I didn’t mean to. I was only-.”

“It’s fine.” Theon said gently, still not looking away from his reflection. It’s just, I haven’t seen myself in a very long time. I tended to avoid mirrors after everything that happened.” Jon laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder, his heart giving a tiny jump when Theon didn’t immediately flinch away. 

“I like it.” He says, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the skin of Theon’s newy exposed neck. “I can see more of your face this way.”

“God knows why you’d want to.” It is said casually but Jon still hears the self loathing in his friend’s voice. 

“Well,” he says in an attempt to lighten the mood. “For one thing It’s far easier to do this now.” Without warning he begins to pepper the older man’s face with kisses. Theon scrunches his nose in mock disgust, turning his head to the side.

“By the Gods Jon. You’d best set that blade to your own face. It’s like being molested by a direwolf.” In response Jon licks a long stripe up Theon’s cheek, making the older man yelp and swat at him.

“You’re worse than a wildling.” He laughs, all sadness forgotten.

“Ay, but I’m an awfully handsome wildling don’t you think?” 

_ I could so easily fall in love with you.  _ Jon thinks as Theon rolls his eyes and smiles back. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
